


A Tactical Exercise in Non-Violent Warfare

by xaritomene



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Advent Calendar Drabble, Christmas, Family, M/M, Snow and Ice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaritomene/pseuds/xaritomene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin accidentally starts a snowball fight and brings about some Christmas cheer for all the family.</p><p>(written for <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/merlinadvent/">merlinadvent</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tactical Exercise in Non-Violent Warfare

Everything was going just fine with the Christmas preparations until it started snowing.

Boring, but fine. Despite the occasional slip on the ice here and there.

Gaius had warned Merlin that it would snow, and snow soon; the clouds had been heavy and grey with it for weeks and snowfall was exceptionally late this year. (Merlin personally thought the clouds were just being ornery, because it wasn't _snowy_, but that didn't mean it wasn't cold; it was just the ugly, grey cold of a city in winter without the redeeming feature of pretty white snow. Pretty white snow before it turned to ugly grey slush, of course – too much about cities in winter was ugly and grey – but it was better than no snow at all. No snow meant too much ice on the stones of the courtyard and there was nothing more humiliating than slipping over for no apparent reason in full view of the castle whilst carrying plate armour.

Well, nothing _much_ more humiliating.)

But it was a relief when the snow fell during the night and the castle woke to cold, pale winter sunlight and a city which looked, briefly, like something out of winter tales, all turrets and snow. For the first time that year, there was a holiday feeling in the air, and it was catching. The servants were humming the old tunes, cinnamon and nutmeg and pastry could be smelt passing the kitchens, and even Arthur was smiling cheerfully as he headed down to the training yard. Holly was finally being dragged in by the bushel and hung around the great hall in preparation for the upcoming feasts. It was, Merlin decided, a good day to be in Camelot.

That was, until the mood took him to lob a snowball at Sir Leon's head.

In his defence, he wasn't actually aiming at Sir Leon. It was just that snow obviously meant snowballs, and Merlin had thrown one before he quite knew what he was doing. And it hit Sir Leon.

Evidently in the holiday spirit, Sir Leon whirled round, and lobbed one right back. Merlin spluttered through a mouthful of snow and then raised an eyebrow at Sir Leon's cheerful, grinning face. This meant _war_.

Clearly all the other knights, even a couple of the bolder servants, thought so too, and by the time Arthur arrived at the training grounds, a fine battle was going on. Roughly equal groups had deployed themselves behind snow-barricades, and a constant barrage of snowballs was going to and fro between them. Merlin laughed out loud as a snowball of his smacked Sir Perceval in the face, only to wheel round as something hit the back of his head.

Arthur stood there, in full armour (Merlin winced; that was what he'd been on his way to do, he remembered now), a disapproving look on his face.

"I don't doubt that you're behind this, Merlin, so you can explain it to me." He said, eyebrow inching up his forehead.

Merlin swallowed. "Well, er. What makes you think I'm behind this?"

"The fact that you're always behind disturbances like this." A brief pause, whilst Merlin scrabbled for an answer. "I'm waiting, Merlin."

"Ah, yes. Well, you see, it's um. A. Tactical exercise?" he winced inwardly; that was weak. "Yes, it's a tactical exercise for the knights. To, um. Practise warfare in a – non-violent setting."

"_You_ set my knights a tactical exercise." Arthur repeated.

"Um, yes."

"Of non-violent warfare."

"Um, yes?"

"Run this by my one more time, Merlin."

"Oh, I'm sure your Highness has got it already-"

"Indulge me." The words had knives in them.

"Well, it's like this. I, er, wanted to see how quick Sir Leon's reflexes were, so I, um, tested them, and he tested mine back, and it became – this." Arthur looked deeply, unabashedly sceptical. "Look, it's a snowball fight, OK?" Merlin gave up. "The snow will have gone soon, and it'll be just slush and mud, and we're making the most of it."

"Snowball fight." Merlin wondered if Arthur had ever had one, and, if he had, whether he'd taken one too many snowballs to the head as a small child. "Well then. In that case, it's my duty," he carefully set his helmet down on a ledge and struggled out of some of his more unwieldy pieces of equipment. Merlin jumped up to help, "as Camelot's Prince, to help defend her against the rebels, wouldn't you say?" He met Merlin's eyes with a grin.

Merlin grinned back. "Oh, yes, sire."

The fight only got rowdier with Arthur's involvement, with shouts of 'death to the rebel forces!' and 'we shall never surrender!' ringing through the crisp air. Merlin, soaked to the skin and grinning like a fool, saw Gaius and Gwen watching from the cloisters, and caught sight of Morgana, muffled up in rich ermine, grinning from the top of the steps.

Merlin was, predictably, the last to notice as everyone else fell silent, lobbing a snowball over their barricade just as Uther strode into the courtyard.

"What," he said, his voice carrying dreadfully through the hush of the snow-covered courtyard, "is the meaning of this?" Next to Merlin, Arthur was doing something complex with his hands which looked like both the signal for 'sneak away when they're not looking' and 'attack on my command'. "I demand an explanation for this rabble-rous-" thwoomp.

So that was what Arthur had been doing with his hands.

An awful silence followed the impact of the snowball in Uther's face. A little snow slid from Uther's face down onto his surcoat, and on the steps, Morgana hid her grin.

"Whoever threw that had best hope," Uther said very carefully, bending down and scooping up a generous handful of snow, patting it gently between his leather gloves into a perfect ball, "that I never find out their identities." He tossed the ball up in the air once, apparently testing its firmness, and then threw it with unerring accuracy at his son.

It was evidently a signal. The snowballs flew again, with Uther leading the rebel side to a rather embarrassing victory, in a horribly short space of time. Camelot's troops watched their snow-wall destroyed and their leader taken captive, and then the castle watched as an unusually cheerful King led their Prince into the castle with a hand on his shoulder, talking about tactics.

"You need to go on the offensive faster, Arthur, I've told you this before. Now, your leadership technique is sound..."

Merlin was cold, wet and had just suffered a humiliating defeat, but the grin Arthur gave him as he and his father disappeared up the stairs into the castle made it all worth it. (But that didn't mean it wasn't good to hear Uther turn round on the last step and declare the day a half-holiday for everyone, or that his call for hot drinks to be served round wasn't equally welcome.)


End file.
